Broken Wings
by Tango Eight
Summary: Carol has a bad feeling about Daryl going out on a hunt one morning. Turns out, her intuition was right. Set between seasons two and three, before they find the prison but after Hershel's farm is overrun.
1. Be Careful

Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any of the characters.

Summary: Carol has a bad feeling about Daryl going out on a hunt one morning. Turns out, her intuition was right. Set between seasons two and three, before they find the prison but after Hershel's farm is overrun.

**Broken Wings – Chapter One, Be Careful**

Carol knew Daryl better than she knew herself sometimes.

She didn't know when that happened exactly. She didn't know when he became the most important person in her world. She was held down by Ed for their entire marriage. He dictated everything about her. What she did, who she talked to, even what she thought sometimes. He made her believe she was nothing. He made her believe she wasn't worth anyone's care. He made her feel useless but the worst thing was he made her feel like she deserved the abuse.

Daryl knew what that was like. He lived with that his entire life and had both the mental and the physical scars to prove it. She wanted to break down and cry the first time she'd seen his back. She was checking in on him after he got injured searching for Sophia. A child Daryl didn't have to care about, didn't have to risk everything for. She wasn't lying when she told him he'd done more for Sophia that day then Ed had ever done in his entire life.

When she walked into that bedroom, Daryl was lying on his side facing away from the door. The sheet was down at his waist, his bare torso completely exposed. Her eyes first went to the white bandage covering the entrance wound on his back. There was a small red circle in the center of the otherwise pristine, white bandage.

Then her eyes roamed the rest of his back. Scars crisscrossed in horrible patterns. They were jagged and deep. A lump immediately formed in her throat, her eyes watered instantly. She had to fight with everything she had to not break down right there. She knew Daryl enough at that time to know he would shut himself off completely if that were to happen. She'd never get close to him again. So she remained strong throughout their entire interaction that night.

But later on, when she was alone, she finally allowed herself to break down and cry herself to sleep. She cried that night for all the injustice in the world. She cried for the dead who weren't allowed to rest, she cried because her little girl was out there in the woods scared and starving. She cried because Daryl was the kindest person in the world and nobody but her saw that. She cried because he didn't deserve the pain he'd had to endure at the hands of a monster far worse than Ed.

That was all in the past now, though. Hershel's farm was a safe haven, an oasis in the middle of a walker-infested desert, but even that couldn't hold up in the world they were living in now. Carol knew they couldn't keep running. Lori was pregnant and the constant danger and stress was taking its toll on her. It was taking its toll on all of them.

Carol knew Daryl better than she knew herself sometimes, so she could tell when something with him was wrong.

Daryl had gone out earlier that morning to try to find something a little bit more substantial for everyone to eat.

"I'll be back before dinner," he told Rick as he slung the strap of his crossbow across his chest, 'hopefully with dinner."

Carol was sitting by a campfire, holding a pot she'd found in some house above the flames heating up packets of old oatmeal for everyone's breakfast, but was still within hearing distance of the exchange. A small spark of worry ignited in her chest. She had a bad feeling about Daryl going out. He'd done it enough times to give her some confidence but this time felt different.

"Be careful," Rick told him, handing him a knife.

"Always am," Carol frowned a little, that's what worried her. He _was_ always careful but he still got hurt searching for Sophia.

Carol looked up from the gloopy oatmeal in the pot as Daryl walked by. Everyone was still asleep except for Rick, Daryl and herself so the camp was relatively quiet.

"Daryl," Carol called out to him as he walked by. He turned around, looking at her questioningly. For someone so guarded, his face could be read like a book sometimes.

"Are you sure you should go out today?" Carol was actually surprised she'd said anything, Daryl seemed surprised as well.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know but maybe you should wait until tomorrow."

"We're almost out of food." He said, looking at her as if he couldn't understand why she didn't understand that. "I ain't just gonna sit around and let everyone starve." He was right. Most of the houses they'd come across had already been cleaned out. What they did find was usually expired or rotten. All the good stuff had either been taken by the family who lived there before, or by scavengers like themselves who'd gotten there first.

Carol also understood Daryl's need to feel useful, to feel important and to feel like he was contributing as much as he could to the group. It was quite amazing actually, how far Daryl had come since joining the group with Merle. Daryl was hostile and didn't play well with others at first, until Merle was removed from the picture. Since then, he'd truly proven which brother was the actual problem and which brother just didn't know any better. Luckily they got to keep the latter.

"You're right," Carol told him, "Just…please be careful."

Daryl made the face he always made when anyone showed concern for him. It was a combination of a wince and a twitch of the eyes. It was like he had no idea how to react or like he didn't understand why anyone would care. It broke her heart a little bit more each time she saw him make that face.

He nodded once, adjusted the strap of his crossbow and turned away from her. She watched his back as he walked away for a few minutes. Her nerves clawed at her once again but she knew everything was out of her hands so she swallowed down the feelings of unease and went back to the pot of expired oatmeal, praying that Daryl would come back to them in one piece.

To Be Continued

Please let me know what you think so far! Thank you for reading!


	2. We All Fall Down

Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any of the characters.

Summary: Carol has a bad feeling about Daryl going out on a hunt one morning. Turns out, her intuition was right. Set between seasons two and three, before they find the prison but after Hershel's farm is overrun.

**Broken Wings – Chapter Two, We All Fall Down**

Since the world ended, and even before that, the woods had always been Daryl's safety net. As a child, when the fists started flying he had two choices. He could choose more bruises and scars or he could spend the night in the woods.

Because he'd spent eight-five percent of his childhood in the woods, he learned at a very young age how to track and hunt. Daryl was just glad he had something to contribute to the group. He knew he was accepted, he knew he'd earned his place, but he still felt inadequate most of the time. Carol helped him feel like he belonged, but he still had the sneaking suspicion that if he never returned the group would have no problem moving on without him.

Everyone had a job and his was to hunt for fresh food, none of that expired, canned stuff they kept finding in the houses they'd scavenge.

He could tell by the sun that it was almost the time he told Rick he'd be back. He hated the idea of returning empty-handed. He hated the idea of failing. He had no idea when that happened. He used to not care about anything. He used to only have to think about himself. Now, for the first time ever, he actually cared about other people. Funny how it took the end of the world for Daryl Dixon to actually find people he wanted to be around; especially when any second one, or all, of them could be dead.

He couldn't help but think of Carol and how worried she seemed before he left. That was the down side to having people care about you. Maybe someone _would _mourn his loss if he never came back.

Somehow that woman wormed her way right into his heart. Somehow she made him care and made him feel loved for the first time in his life.

"Goddamn, if Merle heard you thinkin' like that you'd never hear the end of it." Daryl quietly said to himself. He followed the tracks to the edge of a cliff and was about to start looking for the deer's change in course when he heard a rustling in the tall bushes surrounding him, Daryl froze. That didn't sound like a deer and it wasn't.

Seven Walkers came out of nowhere on all sides. Daryl looked back, but there was nothing but open air. It was decided in that moment that he was never going near ledges ever again.

Daryl was never much for running away from fights, anyway, so he stood his ground. He only had three bolts left for his crossbow. A trip was planned to try to find a hunting store to replenish his supply. There was no question it was a necessary risk, Daryl's crossbow was probably one of the best weapons in the group. It was quiet and Daryl was a pro using it.

Here goes nothin', Daryl thought to himself as the first Walker got close enough for him to feel his attack mode switch on. He was prepared with one bolt already set up so he aimed it at the first Walker's head and pulled the trigger. The arrow found its mark with a dull thunk. The Walker fell to the ground in a splash of blood.

The second one was on him already so he dropped the weapon down, bringing it back up quickly, hitting the Walker under the chin knocking it backwards to the ground. It wasn't down for good but it did buy Daryl a bit more time.

Daryl pulled his knife from its holster. The third Walker stumbled over the downed body on the ground, giving Daryl enough time to stab the knife into its brain. The second one was back on its feet as the fourth was getting a little too close. Daryl felt the first stirrings of fear. He'd fought off larger herds than this one before, but it was his lack of space to move in that put him at a disadvantage.

He pulled the knife out of the one he'd just stabbed and he plunged it through the second's rotting eyeball. The fourth grabbed onto his wrist and pulled. Daryl lost his grip on the knife as he was pulled to the side. He kicked the Walker at the knees hard enough to snap the bones backwards. The Walker fell, releasing Daryl from its grasp.

Daryl didn't waste any time. He set up his second bolt and aimed it at one of the last three's head. He pulled the trigger and the bolt flew through the air before planting itself firmly into an already decayed brain.

With only one bolt left, Daryl knew he needed to make a decision. There were technically three Walkers remaining; the one on the ground and two more coming at him. He couldn't get to his knife.

He raised his crossbow for one final shot, but had to take a step backwards to create a little bit more distance between himself and the Walker. He was right at the edge of the fifty foot cliff now.

The bolt hit home. The Walker on the ground grabbed onto Daryl's pant leg and tried to pull itself closer using the material. Daryl lifted his other foot and brought it down hard on the Walker's head.

It was a relatively new Walker so it took two stomps to crush its skull in. Daryl looked up; the last Walker was within arms distance of him now. Daryl was able to grab ahold of the Walker's arms and keep it from biting him. He'd had to drop his crossbow and he heard it plummeting down the side of the cliff.

The fear kicked up within him again as he realized he had no weapons, nothing but empty air behind him. He was able to quickly glance down at what was at the bottom; there was nothing but rocks to stop any possible fall.

The Walker pushed him back half an inch but it was half an inch too many.

The loose dirt and rocks gave way under Daryl's feet. He felt the ground shift beneath him. The Walker didn't notice and made another violent attempt to bite Daryl.

Daryl was able to get his arms up in time to stop the teeth from advancing any closer to his neck but in the process he lost his tenuous balance. Gravity took over at that moment and before he had a chance to realize what was happening, he was tumbling down yet another cliff, but this time he wasn't alone.

The Walker was falling with him, which meant it was going to land with him, too. And if Daryl wasn't all right when he reached the bottom he was going to be in serious trouble.

To Be Continued

Author's Note: I found while writing this chapter that it's easier to write from Carol's POV than Daryl's. He's definitely the most complex character on the show so it's really hard to keep him in character. I hope I did all right!

Please let me know what you think so far! Thank you for reading!


	3. Hard Landing

Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any of the characters.

Summary: Carol has a bad feeling about Daryl going out on a hunt one morning. Turns out, her intuition was right. Set between seasons two and three, before they find the prison but after Hershel's farm is overrun.

**Broken Wings – Chapter Three, Hard Landing**

The funny thing about falling, and it doesn't matter from what distance, is the amount of time you have to realize how uncontrollable your descent is and how much it's going to hurt when you land.

The ledge was slanted so Daryl tumbled down instead of falling straight to rocks below. That allowed for his momentum to decrease slightly. There was still nothing but small boulders to break his plummet.

Daryl could tell he was still going too fast, he needed to slow himself down. As he spun head over heels down the side of the ridge, he reached out with his hands trying to find something to grab onto. His hands only scrabbled over loose rocks and dirt. He couldn't tell where the Walker was and that bothered him.

Daryl finally felt a root sticking out of the ground and grabbed on with his left hand. His whole body jerked as his entire weight pulled on his shoulder and the root. He felt his shoulder give and his vision darkened as the blinding pain intensified. He clenched his teeth against the agony radiating from the left side of his body.

The root held firm but his arm was useless at that point, his hand burned as the root was yanked from his grasp. He was going slower than before but still too fast for comfort. He didn't know how far from the bottom he was but he knew he had to be close. He closed his eyes and waited for impact.

Daryl was sliding down sideways on his right side. His left arm dragged, hopelessly, behind him. At the bottom of the cliff was an indent where part of the embankment hung over leaving a gap of space before the ground.

Daryl felt weightless as he went over the last part of the declining terrain. For several, terrifying seconds, Daryl was crashing the last five or so feet on his own. His body had turned forward so he was heading straight for the ground, belly first.

He hit the rocks with a dull thud; his chest and abdomen taking the brunt of the fall. All of the air in his entire body was sucked out of his lungs from the force of the impact. He heard the sounds of bones crunching as his ribcage protected his vital organs. Pain radiated in waves, he wanted to puke and pass out at the same time. Passing out would have been preferable to the pain he was feeling but his body had other ideas and stayed completely aware.

Daryl couldn't even truly self-assess his injuries. Everything hurt. He couldn't even move to get off of the rocks that had broken his fall, which at that point were only serving to cause him more pain.

Landing on his own bolt didn't even compare to the pain he was feeling at that moment. He vaguely wondered what the group would think when they learned that he'd injured himself falling down yet another cliff; although, neither time was his fault. He would've been just fine if it weren't for Nervous Nelly and those damn Walkers.

Walkers! Daryl had forgotten about the Walker that crashed down the side of the cliff with him. Daryl panicked as he realized he could become Walker chow at any moment. Adrenaline worked pretty well to dull even the worst agony.

He lifted his head and tried to look around. His vision was blurry and Daryl figured he probably had another concussion. Great, he thought, just what I need. He blinked several times in a row, trying to clear his sight. The world shifted so there was two of everything instead of one, before snapping back into focus. He moved his head to the left and sucked in a breath, trying to fight against the pain that accompanied the action.

He settled for turning his head to the right which was far less painful. He still couldn't see much. He placed his right hand under his body and pushed up. His arm shook but he stayed upright. The pain in his chest and abdomen began to grow in intensity. Daryl had to hold his breath or else it felt like his ribcage was trying to implode. He pulled his legs under him and straightened more. His head swam and he thought he was going down again. The dizziness subsided.

At least now he was able to see where the Walker fell. Luckily, it landed on the rocks as well – head first. Its skull was bashed in on the right side, fluid from its shattered eye dripped down what was left of its face. Daryl sighed in relief. He honestly had no idea how he was going to kill it in the condition he was in. He could barely sit, let alone defend himself against a Walker.

Daryl looked past the twice-dead corpse, trying to get an idea of where he was and what he had to work with. The ground all around him was covered in the small boulders he'd landed on but about fifteen feet away there was nothing but grass. Halfway between where he was sitting and the grass, his crossbow was perched on a crop of about six smaller head-sized rocks. The rest, including most of the ones he'd landed on, were the about the size of small tires.

Daryl knew two things had to happen, before he even attempted to get back to camp. First, he had to get his crossbow. That was definite, even if his leg was hanging off of him by a thread or he was hemorrhaging blood from a severed artery, he had to make sure he had his crossbow. The second thing was he had to get to the soft, grassy ground.

Daryl knew his body's limitation pretty well. He knew he was in trouble, his breathing was raspy and it was a struggle to get any air into his lungs. His ribs felt shattered, his stomach was on fire but he couldn't pin point exactly where the pain was radiating from. His left shoulder and arm were useless. He also knew he was a stubborn sonofabitch and he wasn't going to let any of that stop him.

He reached out with his right hand and placed it onto the rock in front of him for balance, his body arched over the chasm formed between the two rocks. He shuffled his knees until he was at the edge before turning sideways. He lifted one knee and reached it over until it was on the new rock. Then he scooted over, sideways, straddling the gap. His knee was replaced by his shin on the first rock and then his foot. He pushed off, lightly, with his boot. The knee landed on the rock next to the other, the impact shuddered through his entire body and he had to choke back a scream.

He only made it two and a half feet and he was already exhausted and ready to keel over at any moment. His crossbow was still six feet away. Daryl steeled himself; he shoved the intense, blinding pain somewhere deep within himself and let his survival instinct take over. He continued the same routine over and over again until he was finally within reach of his beloved weapon.

Daryl leaned back on his knees and reached for it with his one useable arm. The weight never bothered him much before, he was strong and barely felt it in his hands or over his shoulder, but now, it felt like it weighted a thousand pounds.

Sweat ran into his eyes as he looked over the six and a half feet worth of space still between him and the softer, more forgiving ground. It was now the time Daryl had told the group he'd be back and he knew soon they would be worried about him. Hopefully they had enough food for dinner because he certainly wasn't brining anything back. He wondered how long it was going to take him to return in his condition, if he was even able to do so.

All he had to do at that moment was get to the grass. He kept reminding himself of that as he began to drag his crossbow, and himself, over the remaining rocks. Finally, he made it. He sat on the last rock and put his feet on the grass. He dropped the crossbow onto the ground before following it. His knees hit the ground and the pain exploded within him. Daryl could no longer hold onto his tenuous grasp on consciousness as he gave into the darkness's painless embrace.

To Be Continued

Please let me know what you think so far! Thank you for reading!


End file.
